Under the Hood
by la-rubinita
Summary: In which Dean and Cas build things, and Dean likes Cas' hands.  Rated T for language and boys kissing.  Written for spn snapshots, grid 15, square 13 over on LJ.


A/N: Hey, guys! I fail at Nano, so you get this :) Beta'd, again, by the lovely AlchemyNerd. She's awesomesauce.

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><p>15.13<p>

It was love at first sight. Granted, the vehicle was no Impala, but Dean was just grateful Cas hadn't wanted a Prius or some other green, hippy bullshit Sam would drive if he could fit in it, because _that_ just would not fly. Although, the color was kind of girly; that aqua-green Chevy liked in the forties would never be cool, regardless of which car it was on. Or truck, as it turned out.

They'd been walking through Bobby's yard when they'd found it. Castiel liked to wake up early and watch the sunrise, and every once in a while, Dean would humor him and join him on the barn roof. They'd taken the long way back that day, winding a path through the outer reaches of the yard when Castiel had seen it.

The body was pretty badly rusted and the interior was rotting, but when Dean had indulgently popped the hood, he'd found all parts accounted for and in reasonable condition, considering its age. It needed some love, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be done. Which was fortunate, because when Cas looked at him like _that_, there wasn't much Dean wouldn't do for him.

Cas trailed his fingertips along the edge of the roof, then caressed the length of the hood with his whole hand, almost reverently. "She would be beautiful restored," he said quietly, the request unspoken.

"Yeah, she would," Dean agreed, even though he wasn't terribly fond of trucks. He turned and began walking back to the house. Cas had called the truck 'she'; it was pretty much a done deal. He was in love with the damn thing.

"Come on, Cas."

"Where are you going?" Cas asked, his brow furrowing in disappointment.

"To get the tow," Dean replied. "We're like, half a mile from the garage. You think I'm going to lug my tools out here every day?"

A small smile tugged at Cas' lips. "You're going to fix her?"

"No. We are."

.

The first time they started it up, half a dozen field mice met their end against the wall of Bobby's garage after being fired out the tail pipe. Since becoming human, strange little things upset Cas. Apparently the destruction of a rodent family was one of them. Cas made Dean wait for him to bury them before proceeding.

Dean thought it was a little ridiculous, but had learned that sometimes it was best just to do things and get it over with, rather than try to guess how Cas would handle something. Human emotions were complex, terrible things, and Cas was still having trouble getting a handle on them sometimes.

Dean showed his support by not mocking him mercilessly.

.

They were about two weeks in when Dean realized he was developing a somewhat creepy fascination with Cas' hands. They were long and graceful, deft and sure. They never hesitated when Dean gave instruction, yet always careful not to cause any undue damage. He thought they looked like a pianist's hands, and frequently wondered what they'd look like gliding over ivory keys. But they were just as captivating covered in grease and grime, coaxing dry-rotted hoses free of rusted clamps or helping Dean disassemble and clean the engine block.

The fascination expanded. Soon he was watching the way Cas held his fork at meals, how he tied his shoes or buttoned his shirts. Every move was deliberate, precise. Exactly what was required and nothing more.

Then Cas touched him.

It was kind of stupid how much it affected him, and Dean spent almost half an hour berating himself in his head, because it wasn't like Cas hadn't ever touched him before. But in that brief moment after they'd somehow managed to persuade the transmission to get back onto its mounts and Cas had clapped a proud hand on Dean's shoulder, Dean didn't think he'd ever been more aware of a single sensation in his entire life.

.

A string of hunts on the west coast interrupted the rebuild, and two weeks in, Dean came to the depressing conclusion that Cas stripping and cleaning guns was, if possible, even hotter than Cas doing just about anything else. As with all other things, he was quick, methodical and efficient, and the look of grim determination on his face as he prepared to chase down and kill the nastier things of the world reminded Dean of the days when Cas had been powerful. Dangerous. There was a time when he could have destroyed just about anything with a touch, and now he needed silver bullets and a heavy dose of luck, just like the rest of them. Familiar guilt surged in his chest watching the former angel prepare his arsenal, because no matter how many times Sam and Cas reassured him, Dean would always blame himself for Cas being human.

"I can feel your guilt from over here, Dean," Cas said quietly, his eyes never leaving the barrel of the pistol he was oiling.

"What do you mean?" Dean said, hastily turning his attention back to the laptop. Sam had gone out for supplies, which left Dean on research detail.

"I assure you, it's unnecessary."

A thousand protestations leapt to Dean's tongue, but voicing them would be admitting Cas was right, and Dean would rather run around naked in a blizzard than wear his heart on his sleeve, even for a moment.

"Humans are exceptional," Cas said conversationally.

Dean snorted.

"They are persistent, resilient… brave. Something is always attempting to destroy mankind, and there is always someone willing to stand up and stop it." Cas stopped and looked at Dean, who couldn't have looked away if he wanted to. "And when the smoke clears, you all get back up, dust yourselves off and start over. It's truly incredible."

"What's your point?" Dean snapped.

Cas took his time reassembling the gun before he set it down on the table and looked Dean in the eye.

"I am not ashamed to be human. Let it go, Dean."

Sam burst through the door a moment later and the conversation died, for which Dean was grateful, because letting things go had never been one of his fortes.

.

The werewolf had been a damn-sight more clever than the last one they'd tracked, and Dean came a bit closer to buying the farm than he liked to think about. When they returned to the motel room to clean up before skipping town, Dean actually needed help getting through the door, which he really wasn't thrilled about.

"Put him on the bed," Sam said, slinging the medical bag onto the floor, "and get me some towels and hot water."

Dean groaned when Cas dropped him on the squeaky mattress. His chest was shredded to ribbons, and he'd fucked up his knee when the thing had thrown him down a flight of stairs. Even thinking about breathing hurt.

"You're covered in blood, Sam. Allow me to suture Dean's wounds."

Sam froze mid-step, his eyes flicking back and forth between Dean and Cas. "You sure?"

Cas nodded. "I have witnessed the procedure many times. I am certain I can perform it successfully."

"I don't really give a fuck who does it, just get me stitched up. I'm bleeding like a stuck pig over here."

Sam threw a half-hearted glare at Dean. "All right."

A couple of minutes later, Cas had everything he needed lined up on the bedside table and was helping Dean to lean against the headboard. Cas hadn't wanted to move him, not wishing to aggravate the wounds, but Dean had insisted it would be easier and that he could take the discomfort.

Turns out what he couldn't handle was Cas touching him. He was careful and precise, first gently cleansing the wounds, and when he finally began stitching, Dean hardly felt a thing. He was too focused on the feel of Cas' fingers softly holding his skin in place so the stitches would come out even. It was so different from Sam's 'let's get this over with' approach, it was a little overwhelming. Dean wasn't used to people taking his comfort into consideration. Dean wasn't used to having anyone but Sam and Bobby _care_ enough to even think about it.

The liquor bath he got at the end still stung like a motherfucker, though.

"Shit," Dean cursed.

"I apologize," Cas said, carefully blotting the whiskey off Dean's chest with a clean towel.

Dean gritted his teeth together and shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

When Cas began applying antibiotic ointment to the wounds, Dean had to look away, otherwise things were about to get really embarrassing, really fast.

"You should be more careful, Dean," Cas said, his voice thick.

Dean swallowed. "Yeah, I know."

.

They headed three towns over and set up shop for a week so Dean's wounds could heal enough to allow for travel. There was only one room available, and when Cas crawled in bed next to Dean, no one said a word.

But if Dean ever saw that sappy smile on Sam's face directed at him again, he swore to God he'd knock it off with a two-by-four.

.

There was a salvage yard in the middle of Wyoming that was bigger than some of the Podunk towns they'd hunted in, and Dean made Sam stop on the way back to Bobby's. It took most of the day, but they eventually found what Dean was looking for: a new rear axle, bench seat, muffler, and steering wheel for Cas' truck. He even paid them to ship it to Bobby's. It cost an arm and a leg, but the pleased smile Cas wore all the way to South Dakota was totally worth it.

.

"Hey guys, I think I got us another case," Sam said, approaching the garage.

Dean and Cas had essentially been sleeping there the past couple days, the excitement of being nearly finished taking over pretty much everything except Dean's desire once or twice a day, for bacon cheeseburgers. Cas still forgot he needed to eat sometimes, but he'd finally gotten in the habit of having a bite whenever Dean did. He didn't seem too picky, either, but Dean didn't know if it was because of some residual traits from Jimmy or if he just didn't care.

"What's up?" Dean said, poking his head out from underneath the truck. The rear axle he'd picked up in Wyoming was in much better condition; the bitch just didn't want to go on.

Cas was helping to hold it in place while Dean fiddled, and he craned his neck around to look at Sam.

"Vengeful spirit outside of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. At least it looks like a vengeful spirit."

Dean looked at Cas, then at Sam. "Why don't you guys take care of it?"

Cas and Sam both looked at Dean. Sam wiggled his eyebrows.

"Simple salt-and-burn, right?"

Sam half-shrugged. "Yeah, should be."

Cas just kept staring, then tilted his head to the side, a gesture turning human hadn't banished.

"Gotta take the training wheels off sometime, Cas."

Cas' brow furrowed in confusion. "I am not familiar with that expression."

Dean tried not to smile. "It means I think you can handle this one without me. Besides, Cedar Rapids isn't that far away. If the shit hits the fan, I can be there in a couple of hours."

"All right," Cas said. "If you find this plan acceptable, Sam, then I have no objections."

Sam chuckled. "No objections here."

"Excellent," Dean said. "Just help me get this axle on before you run off with Sasquatch."

.

Installing the seat and steering wheel was easy, if not a little time consuming, but Dean figured he'd have at least another thirty-six to forty-eight hours to finish the paint job. It'd be cutting it close, but if he hurried, he could get it done by the time they got back. Maybe.

He'd had to order the paint from a place in Lincoln, Nebraska, and it arrived the day Dean finished sanding and priming the old truck. The color was hard to come by; Chevy had stopped making it in the early sixties, and he'd actually had to have it custom made to match the factory paint.

The job itself took a little longer than anticipated, so it was pure luck (on Dean's part – not so much for Sam and Cas) that it turned out there were actually two spirits and they were having trouble tracking down the identity and remains of the second. Sam estimated another two days, at least, which was great because that would actually allow for the paint to cure. Cas would be able to drive it as soon as he returned.

.

"What's gotten into you, boy?" Bobby said from the kitchen doorway.

Dean had been impatiently pacing the house for the past two hours, ever since Sam called to say they were heading home. Sure, he'd downed at least four cups of coffee since he woke up, but he was really more anxious for Cas to get back than over-caffeinated. Kitchen, living room, office, up the stairs and back down into the kitchen; he'd walked the route probably fifty times, his hand brushing the key-shaped lump in his pocket almost continuously.

When Bobby called him on it, though, he sat down at the table with a thump and picked up the newspaper Bobby had read through at breakfast.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bobby snorted.

Dean glared. "What?"

"You've been climbing the walls half the morning." Bobby paused, waiting for Dean to respond, and failed to stifle a grin when he did not. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that truck and a certain fallen angel – who shall remain nameless – would it?"

"No, I'm just bored. Shoulda gone on the hunt. I am _not_ nervous."

"Who said anything about nervous?"

Dean glared again, but snapped his jaw shut, deciding silent irritability was the way to go.

Bobby chuckled and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he dropped a hand on Dean's shoulder, patted twice gruffly, and withdrew it awkwardly.

"He's gonna love it."

Dean didn't move until Bobby had left the kitchen, at which point he dropped his head on the table with a loud _thunk._ He spent the next hour telling himself not to be such a girl.

.

Dean heard the Impala coming from a half a block away – he'd know the sound of his baby anywhere – and went to meet them on the porch. Both Sam and Cas looked a little banged up when the climbed out of the car, but Cas looked happy – well, as happy as Cas ever looked – and Sam didn't look pissy at all, so Dean supposed things had gone well.

"Nice to see you made it back in on piece," Dean commented.

"He did good," Sam said, jerking his head toward Cas. "Actually broke the case there at the end."

Cas actually looked… bashful, and Dean would swear on his mother's ever-loving soul that it was _not_ adorable. Dean Winchester did not think things were adorable, and definitely not grown men at that.

"I am certain Sam would have figured it out, had I not been there."

"Eventually," Dean said, his lips twitching upward.

Sam glared. "Nice vote of confidence, dude."

Dean ignored his brother and turned back to Cas. "You got a minute?"

"Of course," Cas replied. "What is it?"

"Got something to show you," Dean said, gesturing for Cas to follow.

He led Cas around the back of the house, then leant against the corner and waited for him to see. He'd pulled the truck out of the garage and into the yard, and even though the sky was overcast, the damn thing still shone like new.

"Oh," Cas said quietly.

He circled the truck, trailing his fingers almost reverently along the body, then slid into the cab behind the wheel. Dean had to admit, the truck fit him: an odd vehicle for an odd guy. He walked over, shut the door and held out the key.

"She's road worthy," Dean said. "Got tags on her and everything."

Cas took the key and stared at it for a moment before looking at Dean, his electric eyes nailing him to the spot.

"Thank you, Dean."

"It was nothin', really. You did just as much work as I did, and—"

"Dean, shut up."

Then Cas wrapped his hand around the back of Dean's neck and pulled him in for a kiss, hot, dry demanding lips sending Dean's heart racing and his head spinning. Dean had done a lot of kissing in his time – he'd started at eleven for Christ's sake – but none of them could even come close to _this_. It wasn't practiced or smooth, but what Cas lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. Dean felt like he was on fire, like if Cas kept kissing him he'd burn right up, but he swore he'd kill him if he even thought about stopping. Cas' hair was surprisingly soft, and when Dean ran his fingers through it and tugged, pulling him closer, Cas moaned like it was the best thing he'd ever felt. Hell, maybe it was, and the thought made Dean want to do other, dirtier, more complicated things to him than just kissing.

Hands-down: Best Kiss Ever. Long story, short. The end.

Cas pulled away, lips pink, cheeks flush and looking all sorts of uncertain, but when Dean smiled Cas twitched his lips.

"Was that okay?" Cas asked.

Dean swallowed, and forced himself to tear his gaze away from Cas' lips to look him in the eye. "Yeah, Cas. More than okay." He paused, then continued, "And you're welcome."

Cas smiled, for real, revealing shining white teeth and making his eyes crinkle at the corners. It totally transformed his entire face, made him look younger, less care-worn. It was a smile to blot out the sun, and for a second Dean thought he might actually be able to forgive himself for everything he'd put Cas through over the years, if he could just keep smiling like that.

Cas looked away, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Now you get to teach me how to drive it."

Dean laughed.


End file.
